


No More Untold Stories:  Dragon Age Drabbles (And A Bit of Mass Effect, Too)

by Hallianna



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, F/M, Feel free to skip around as you like, Gen, Some mass effect too, Tumblr Prompts, but mostly warm fuzzies, from tumblr, some smuttiness, spans dragon age ii and dragon age inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-27 11:57:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 8,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5047600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallianna/pseuds/Hallianna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Loyal doesn’t always mean blind obedience, Commander,” she replied as she stepped back to view the table.  “You and I both know that.”</p><p>Short stories and drabbles based on Tumblr prompts; new chapters added as new prompts come in.  Ranging from sweet to smutty, spanning Dragon Age II and Dragon Age Inquisition (with implied an implied Zevran/Female Amell relationship from Dragon Age Origins).  A few are from Mass Effect, my other obsession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Opening Line Challenge:  "He was pretty sure even the Orlesians would find this too decadent."

**Author's Note:**

> Various prompts from Tumblr users; mostly Hawke/Varric but some Hawke/Isabela and even a look into the next lengthy fic, Love and Remembrance (any piece focused on Zevran and Sia Amell concerns this not yet fully formed fic.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian/Male Inquisitor of my choosing (Thrace Trevelyan)

He was pretty sure even the Orlesians would find this too decadent.

Then again, nothing in Orlais smelled like dog, so what he was seeing - and smelling - baffled him.  There was enough silk, chiffon, and glittering gems to fill the Winter Palace and then some, putting to shame Celene’s most magnificent of balls.  But the hint of wet dog, mixed with the scent of peat and over it all, the fragrance (and he winced to call it that) of smoked meat didn’t fool him.

You could put the gems on a Fereldan, but you’d never be able to mask that stench.  And speaking of masks, the lack of them even amongst the scattered Orlesian nobles was scandalous.

He loved every minute of it.

“You’re one of the Inquisitor’s party, aren’t you?”

Dorian looked to his right at the very tall, very blond man Fereldans called king.  He spotted the beginnings of stress creases in his forehead and pronounced laugh lines around his mouth, but other than that, he’d have been hard pressed to realize Alistair Theirin had aged in these last ten years.

And then he saw fine lines of grey streaking the man’s hair and tried not to smile.   _Isn’t it good to be king?_  he thought.

“Dorian Pavus, your majesty,” Dorian replied with a sweeping bow.  “Though you might want to be careful.  Being spotted with the  _evil magister_  might lower the opinions of your constituents.”

Alistair laughed and leaned against the wall.  “I doubt it could get much worse than what they thought of me - still think of me - after the whole Redcliffe/mage debacle.”

“Yes?”  Dorian titled his head at the lack of self-pity in the man’s tone.  “I thought it went over rather swimmingly.  The Inquisitor charged in, stopped my old patron from changing the world, for the worse I might add, and you got to expel the mages from your lands.”  He crossed his arms and leaned back as well.  “All in all, a rather good day’s work, I think.”

Another laugh, this one shorter and sharper.  “Tell that to the lords and ladies of Ferelden wanting my head because I ‘let’ it happen.”

Dorian waved a hand in the air.  “Nonsense.  They want an enemy to blame, I’m sure the Inquisitor would be happy to show them the pile of ashes Corpheyus left on his doorstep.”

Alistair smiled and looked down at the man.  “I suppose that might do.”  His eyes wandered to a spot over Dorian’s head.  “But I’ve taken enough of your time, Ser Pavus.  Do enjoy the ball.  I spent loads of gold just getting the draperies right.”  He leaned in to whisper, “I did take care to give the Inquisitor the best rooms.”

Dorian watched the king push away from the wall, then turned to spot why the other man left so quickly.   _My, my, how quickly word travels_ , he thought, grinning as the Inquisitor approached.

Thrace bowed, then held his hand out.  “May I have this dance, Magister Pavus?”

Dorian sighed exaggeratedly but took the man’s hand.  “I’m not a magister, love.  Do get it right.”

“So tetchy,” Thrace teased as he spun them across the ballroom floor.  “And just after talking to the King of Ferelden.”

“He’s nothing compared to you,  _amatus_ ,” Dorian replied softly, smiling.

“I should hope not.  He only killed an Archdemon.  I’ve walked the Fade, killed a god and his pet, and saved the world.”

“Impressive,” Dorian said, unable to keep the smile off his face.  “And now comes the part where you run away with your Tevinter lover.”

“Mmmm, perhaps.  But for tonight, I thought we’d start with the beautiful chambers the king put me in.”  The smile on his rugged face tugged only at one corner of his mouth.

“Are you suggesting we slip away from all this gloriousness?”

“I am.”

Dorian nudged him with a hip and over to the edge of the room.  Thrace spun prettily and put Dorian’s back to the darkened hallway leading to the stairs. “That will certainly give them something to talk about.”

A finger on his lips stopped Dorian and he watched his love grin mischievously. “They’re already talking.  Let’s give them something to whisper about behind those silk fans.”

As he sprawled out on the biggest bed he’d ever seen some hours later, Dorian decided he rather liked Ferelden.

Even if it did smell like dog.


	2. Opening Line Challenge:  "Oh, Maker!  Why does it only burn going down?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric/Iona Hawke

“Oh Maker!  Why does it only burn going down?”

Varric laughed and slapped a card down.  “Burns coming up, too.”  Hawke grumbled something and he only caught, “damn”, “piss” and “stupid”.  Ignoring his friend’s red face, he nodded to Fenris.  “Your turn, elf.”

Fenris glared at his cards, tossed one face down into the middle of the table and leaned back, an impressive glower on his face.  “Why am I still playing this game?  You and Isabela just take all my coin.”

Isabela pursed her lips, tossed a card, and then threw back half the bottle in front of her.  “What’s the matter, sweet thing?  Can’t stand to lose to a woman and a dwarf?”  She leaned closer, eyes dancing.  “Feeling less than manly tonight?”

Fenris gave her a death glare, making Varric laugh again.  “Oh come on, Fenris, it’s not that bad.”  He picked up the pile of cards, flipped them over, and examined the results.  “Besides, you just won.”  He waved a hand at the bar. “Now go get us another round.”

“Not that shit Varric keeps giving me,” Hawke said as Fenris stood.  “Maker, it burns.”  She shuddered and slumped in her seat.  “What exactly is this shit?”

“Black Sickle Number 4,” Isabela replied, slapping a hand on Hawke’s arm to steady her as the rogue wobbled in her chair.  “I can’t believe Varric talked you into drinking that.  It’s brewed from hogsroot and black lotus.”

Hawke pulled a face, tongue sticking out.  “Ugh, I think my insides are turning black as we speak.”

Varric started shuffling the cards again, nimble fingers making them flash in his hands.  “Stop being such a baby, Hawke.  Fenris will bring back beer and you can clear those insides out with some of Corff’s homebrew.”  Hawke grimaced and he suppressed a smile.  “On the upside, you’ll sleep better tonight than you have in months.  Black Sickle?  Might as well be a sleeping potion.”

Hawke yawned and rolled her neck from side to side.  “Fenris better hurry up. I’m already drowsy.”

By the time Varric was done shuffling and Fenris had returned from the bar, Hawke was slumped in her chair, one hand propping up her head, the other flung limply over a chair arm.  Isabela waved a hand in front of Hawke’s face, then turned with a grin to Varric.  “I’m honestly surprised she didn’t suspect anything.”

Varric set the cards down on the table and pushed to his feet.  “She’s been tired to do much of anything lately, other than do errands for everyone else.”  He pointed a finger at Fenris. “Not a word, elf.”

Fenris held a hand up.  “I’m not blind, Varric.  I know she hasn’t been sleeping.”

“Good, then help me pick her up.”  

Between he and Fenris, with Isabela guiding them (and helpfully not letting them smack Hawke’s head into a wall), they carried Hawke up to his room. The moment she was settled on his bed, Varric shooed them both out of the room. “I’m staying to play guard,” he said softly, brows drawn down in his most serious expression.  “And be the one she yells at when she wakes up.”

Isabela tchted at him, replying, “Please.  You know she’ll take turns yelling at each of us.  We were at the table with you.”  Fenris was still glowering, so she pulled him away from the door saying, “Come on, Fenris.  There’s four beers downstairs with our names on them.”

Varric shut the door gently behind them, then sat down at his table.  Hawke was in the next room, directly in front of him.  With any luck, she’d sleep through the night and wake up in the morning, ready to yell at him for drugging her.

They’d been sharing a bed for months and every night she dreamed, thrashing and yelling.  And every night he tried to quell her fears, lull her back to sleep in any way he could.  But as the nights grew shorter and colder, she slept less and less and he grew more concerned.

Tonight, she’d sleep without dreams, without needing to be pulled against him until her shaking stopped and her breathing evened.

He’d pay the price for letting her rest.


	3. Opening Line Challenge:  "You know, that reminds me of the time her Mabari peed in the Chantry."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of Love and Rembrance, the yet to be posted Zevran/Sia Amell/Cullen fic

“You know, that reminds me of the time her mabari peed in the Chantry.”

Cullen looked at Leliana, shock raising his eyebrows.  “What?”

She laughed, soft and low, as she moved a new piece onto the war map.  “Oh, it’s true.  We were going to talk to the Revered Mother, to see if she would turn a Qunari prisoner named Sten into our custody.”  Another piece was added, then a third.  “The dog caught sight of a flock of pigeons on our way there and chased them to the Chantry door.  The Templar standing guard was so shocked to see such an odd looking group, with a mabari at its lead, that he opened the door.”

Cullen reached for a stack of parchment to his left, eyes tracing over the latest reports.  “But why did the mabari-”

“One of the pigeons flew in and he chased after it, barking madly.  And when Sia finally caught the poor, frightened bird and let it loose outside, she turned to Hero - the mabari - and scolded him for frightening everyone so.”  She chuckled and brushed hair away from her eyes.  “It must have been an act of defiance, because the dog promptly walked over to the nearest wall and peed all over it.”

Cullen stifled a laugh.  “I thought mabari were always loyal.”

“Loyal doesn’t always mean blind obedience, Commander,” she replied as she stepped back to view the table.  “You and I both know that.”

Late afternoon sun was cutting swaths across the room and Cullen felt something heavy settle in his chest.   _She’s right, you know it_ , he thought, eyes drifting from the map to the door as it creaked open,

“Ah, good, you’re both here,” the Inquisitor said as she came in, followed by a striking redhaired woman a little older than their new dwarven Inquisitor.

“Why am I not surprised?” the other woman asked, smiling brightly at Leliana. “Already plotting and planning. Even when she was following me around, she always had good sense of schematics and tactics.”

Leliana brushed past a slightly agog Cullen to embrace her old friend.  “It’s been too long,” she said into Sia’s hair.  “I thought you’d be out yet another week.  I only told the Inquisitor you might come to Skyhold. I never thought you’d actually make it here.”

“Alistair gave me one of his best horses and I took a shortcut.  Plus this whole Corpheyus thing is such a mess, how could I not come?” Sia replied, pulling back to hit Leliana with another smile.  “You and I have some catching up to do.”

“Sia?”

Sia lifted her head and saw him staring at her, mouth agape.  “Hello, Cullen.” She slipped from her friend’s embrace to stand on the side of the table opposite him.  “Just as handsome as ever.”


	4. Gift fic for codenamecynic:  "How Isabela sings"

She heard Isabela’s jewelry before her footsteps.   

Bela was movement and rhythm and spinning blades of death, but she was also sound and a particular brightness. She chimed when she spun with daggers aimed high, those bracelets and earrings and necklaces flashing like they were on fire.

Her entire body was some kind of aria just alien enough to Hawke’s ears to let her be both admirable and jealous of everything the pirate was.  Sensuality and death combined, woven together in a way that intoxicted both the brave and the stupid.

“Got room in that dreary hole for me and my friend?”

Hawke sighed, pushed a pile of clothes off the bed, and crooked a finger at the eyes peering at her through the crack between the door and the wall.

The soft pealing of metal on metal drew Hawke’s eyes to her friend’s arms and neck.  She completely missed the dusty bottle Isabela had in her right hand until it was shoved in her face.  She was too preoccupied with that melody her jewelry made.

“Nicked it off a courier who tried to rob me.”  Isabela shook her head as she pulled on the cork.  “He tried to rob  _me_ , Hawke.  Unbelievable.”

“Uh huh.”

The cork came loose with a loud pop and Isabela tossed it aside.  She held the bottle out to Hawke.  “Ladies first.”

Hawke wrapped a hand - reluctantly - around the bottle and started to bring it toward her when Isabela put her hand on Hawke’s wrist.  “To your mother, Hawke.  Let’s drink to her.”

Unbidden and certainly not the first of the day, tears formed in Hawke’s eyes. Isabela didn’t move her hand from Hawke’s wrist as she kneeled in front of her friend.  “To a mother who only wanted the best for her family.  To a woman who fought for what she wanted and what she believed in.”  Hawke looked up and saw Isabela’s eyes shining and had to swallow the lump in her throat.  “To a woman who treated me kindly and who taught her daughter to be so irritatingly nice to even complete strangers.”

Hawke laughed, dry and raspy but it was as honest a laugh as she’d had in days.  “To my mother.”

Together, they raised the bottle, eyes meeting over the top of it.  
  


* * *

 

__One bottle, three shots, and some questionable ale later_    
_

“You gotta show me how you do it.”

Isabela laughed and leaned over to brush hair out of her friend’s eyes.  “Do what, sweetie?”

Hawke pointed a rather unsteady finger at Isabela’s chest.  “Make yourself sing like you do.”

Curious where her mage friend was going with that line of thought, Isabela wrapped warm fingers around her friend’s wrist again.  But this time, she pulled Hawke’s hand to her and laid it flat on the necklace that hung over her heart. The one that dipped dangerously close to the swell of her breast.  “I’m assuming you’re not talking about actual singing,” Isabela said softly, watching her friend’s brow dip in concentration as Hawke traced the intricate carvings on a medallion.

“Pfffttt, no.  How  _you_  sing.  When you move.  All your jewelry just….sings.”

“You like my jewelry, do you?”

“Yep.”

Isabela stifled a chuckle. Long, agile fingers were ghosting over her necklace, barely brushing her skin.  It was a delicate tickling that made her shiver even against the heat blossoming in her belly.

“Anything else you like?”

Hawke’s eyes lit up and those fingers ( _damn those fingers_ ) slipped even lower, deliberately tracing over the rounded edge of her corset. Isabela fought back a moan.  “You’re setting yourself up for trouble, Hawke.”

Hawke shook her head, shaggy brown hair tickling Isabela’s nose.  “Maybe I like trouble.”   _She’s quick for a drunk_ , Isabela though as Hawke climbed on top of her.  “Maybe I want to make you sing.”

Isabela raised an eyebrow, a smile skating over her lips.  “Now that sounds like an idea very much worth having but - “

“No buts, Bela.”

The pirate gave an exaggerated pout.  “Well, what fun is that?  Butts are some of the best parts on women -”

Hawke’s kiss cut her off.   _Maker’s balls…warm, soft, smells like leather_. Isabela let Hawke kiss her.  She let that clever tongue slip into her mouth to tangle with hers.  And she definitely let those hands wander.  But hers stayed on Hawke’s hips, not daring to go lower or higher.

She let Hawke kiss her, run hands over her body, writhe against her.  And when Hawke stopped the kiss to look at her, rejection painted so plainly on her face it made Isabela’s heart wrench, all she said was, “I’d never let you do something drunk that you’d regret sober.”

The hurt on Hawke’s face deepened.  “I wouldn’t regret-”

“No, I don’t really think you would.  But this, here, now?”  Isabela took Hawke’s hands in hers and held them tight.  “You’re grieving and lonely and lost and very drunk.  So I’ll make you a deal.  You sleep now and I’ll stay with you.  As long as you like.  As many nights as you like.”  

Hawke’s eyes started to well up again and Isabela reached up to catch a tear on her fingertip.  “And one day, when your heart doesn’t hurt so much and when you’re not expecting to hear her greeting every time you come in your front door, I’ll come to you.  And if you still want this, when you’re not so lonely and lost and you’re sober, then I’ll show you how I sing.”

She got a smile for that.  “Promise?”

“Absolutely, sweet thing.”


	5. Story prompt:  "I'm in love with you and I'm terrified"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friend fic, Dorian and Varric

“I’m in love with you and I’m terrified?”  Dorian turned over the last page in the stack with a sigh.  “Well, that’s certainly one way to create drama.  But don’t you think it’s a little -”

“Cheap?  Yeah, Sparkler, I do.  That’s  _why_  I ended the chapter like that. Keeps the hungry masses clamoring for more and makes my editor happy.”  Varric pushed his glasses up his nose with a fingertip.  “Now stop griping about my plotting skills and pour more wine.”

“As my dwarven friend commands,” Dorian replied, mustache twitching at the gruffness in Varric’s tone.  He waited until he’d pushed a full goblet at Varric to say, “So, all this Bianca business…”

“Not up for discussion.”

“Not even a little?”

“Nope.”

“Not even if I bat my eyelashes and ask pretty please?”  Dorian ran a hand over his impeccable blue tunic.  “I’m told my begging is quite motivational.”

Varric eyed him over the rim of his goblet.  “You mean manipulative.”

Dorian smiled.  “That, too.”

Reluctantly, Varric put his quill down.  “Why are you interested?  I thought you were more invested in the Inquisitor’s love life than mine.  Or, my lack thereof.”

“Perish the thought.  I’m very interested, and invested.  What would I do if my favorite dwarf slash storyteller suddenly became morose and boring?  Who would I drink with?”

Varric scoffed but it came out like a weak sigh.  “You really want to know?”

Dorian put his goblet down and locked Varric with a rather serious stare, his mustache no longer twitching.  “Yes, Varric, I do.”

“All right, but I’m warning you, there’s no happy ending.”

“Maybe there will be.  You never know.  Love is a fickle bastard.”


	6. Story Prompt:  "Please don't leave"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke/Varric established relationship

Varric gingerly picked up the limp, warm arm wrapped around his waist. His fingers encircled her wrist, his index finger gently pressing against the steady pulse beneath thin skin. He waited a moment, feeling, breathing in time with the the beat of her heart as his gaze roamed over the bare timbers of his room.

Hawke’s shock of dark brown hair was swept haphazardly over her eyes and he didn’t want to disturb her by brushing it aside. So instead he placed a kiss, just a whisper of lips, over the inside of her wrist and put her arm at her side.

Varric had just turned the corner to the next room when her voice ran out, sleepy but clear. “Don’t leave.”

He peeked around the wall and saw her braced on one arm (the one he’d moved), blinking slowly in his direction. “Call of nature. Not leaving.”

She smiled at him and patted his shadow on the bed. “Hurry up.” Her voice now had an edge to it, velvet and warm. “Don’t keep the lady waiting.”

Varric waited until he came back to bed to ask, “What made you think I was leaving?”

Hawke slipped a leg over his and drew him closer. “I didn’t.”

“Funny how that exact thing slipped out of your mouth as soon as I got up.”

Hawke wrapped long, calloused fingers in the drawstrings of his pants. “It was nothing.” Her other hand ran over the swell in his pants. “This, however, is quite the something.”

“Hawke.” His voice was gently admonishing. “You don’t think I’d really leave, do you?”

“Just kiss me.”

Varric tucked a finger under her chin so he could meet her eyes. “I’m not leaving.”

Hawke stared at him and finally sighed. “I know. I know. I just-”

Varric’s thumb caressed her lower lip. “Bad dreams again?”

She leaned into the touch, lips falling open against his touch. “Yeah.”

His hand left her lips to cup her jaw. “I’m not going anywhere, Hawke. And when this is over, I’ll come to you, wherever you are.”

“I know, Varric.”

“Then know this.” He kissed her cheek. “I love you.” He kissed her other cheek. “Nothing can change that.” He brushed a soft kiss over her lips, then pulled back enough to watch her eyes flutter open. “Just promise me something.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Do better. Promise me you won’t do anything….you at Weisshaupt that could get you hurt.”

“I promise.”

“You better.” He tucked her against him, arms wrapped around her, fingers tangled in her hair. Lips hovering over hers, he whispered, “Now that that’s settled, you made a promise to me earlier I’d like to cash in on.”


	7. Story Prompt:  "Want to dance?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran and Sia Amell; set during the Winter Ball. Zevran and Sia, at the express invitation of their close friend Leliana, have been closely tracking the Inquisition, and the Inquisitor. They now mingle with the various Orlesian nobles, dressed as courtiers from Antiva. Zevran has even gone as far as covering up his facial tattoos so he wouldn’t scandalize the court - Andraste forbid they think a lowly assassin be amongst them.

“Want to dance?”

“What?”

Zevran grinned at the baffled expression on Sia’s heavily painted face.  Leliana had tried to press masks on both of them but Sia wasn’t in the mood to hide.  _Let them see us_ , she’d said.   _Let them see royalty, and danger, and wonder if we’re hiding poisoned knives in our pockets._

 _We should also be making them fear they’ll be seduced into a dark stairwell and ruined for all other lovers_ , Zevran had thought while fighting back a smile.

So they were outfitted in the finest leather and silk, black as night and red as blood and embellished with golden drakes.  They made a stunning pair, every head turning their direction when Zevran led Sia in on his arm and they were announced as Lord and Lady Corzana. Zevran’s gloves were studded along the knuckles with tiny rubies; Sia’s hair was strung with gold and diamonds, little stars winking in those lush red waves.  Zevran told her all the glitter made her hair look like coiled snakes, eyes gleaming in the darkness.  Just waiting for prey to pass by.

“You say the sweetest things,” she’d replied with a laugh and punctuating her words with a kiss to his cheek.  "Come, let’s play spies for an evening.“

And now, two hours and a passable glass of wine for each of them, Zevran held out his hand to her while the minstrels plucked and strummed out a slow song.  He smiled, she smiled back, and slipped her hand into his.

They spun onto the waxed floor, all grace and guile.  There was poetry in their movements, a finesse that Zevran enjoyed displaying.  And from the looks of the slowly burgeoning crowd, they were enjoying it as well.  

“We’ve attracted a few admirers,” he whispered in her ear.

“Just a few?”  The pout she gave him was beautiful and almost believable. “There had better be more than a few by the time our dance is over.”

“Trying to make someone jealous?” he purred, running a hand scandalously low down her back.  The crowd murmured.  "A certain commander, perhaps?“

She laughed and it rang like a bell, drawing startled looks from their fans.  "I can’t possibly imagine what you might mean.”

Zevran glanced over at commander, who was standing stiffly at a corner of the dance floor.  And he was desperately trying not to stare at Sia as she glided past.  But his face easily betrayed him.  “No?  The poor man is just itching to rip you from my muscular arms and gather you up in what I’m sure is an…adequate embrace.”

“Jealous?”

Zevran scoffed.  “Oh, not at all.”  He spun them to a stop and dipped her, drawing heated murmurs and a few gasps from the onlookers.  “I just wonder if he’s still the man you remember from ten years ago.”  He pulled her up, her spine going liquid under his skilled touch and he gave her a one-sided, all together too rakish grin.  “Would he keep running from you?  Or would he give in?”  One eyebrow went up as he eyed her appreciatively.  “Because I know I couldn’t resist.”


	8. Story Prompts:  "Is there a reason you're naked in my bed?" & "I swear it was an accident"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke/Isabela established relationship

“Oops.”

“Oops?” Hawke gritted her teeth and spat out, “That was not an oops situation, Isabela.”

Isabela grinned and pulled the blanket higher up. She stayed at Hawke’s mansion more and more these days and Hawke nicely left her favorite blankets within easy reach from the middle of her ginormous bed. “It was an accident.”

Hawke sputtered, eyes narrowing as Isabela wiggled deeper under the blanket. “Diving head first into a bar fight that didn’t involve you was bad enough. Doing so while pulling me along with you was even worse. Getting yourself almost stabbed in the process was not an accident, Isabela!”

Isabela studied her for a moment, gauging the situation. Hawke was pissed, but it was an anger born of worry.

And of love. It was an odd thing, to be loved, and she was still learning.

But one thing Isabela knew how to do after a fight - even a bar fight - was make Hawke forget her anger. She slid her legs over the edge of the bed, pulling the blanket with her until she was standing. The without pretense, dropped the blanket.

“Would it make it any better if I apologized like this?”

Hawke crossed her arms and looked away, but only for a moment. Isabela padded to her on feet silent save for the quiet chime of the charms around her right ankle. “So you did all that and then you waited in my bed naked? Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Isabela wrapped her arms around Hawke’s stiff frame and waited. She didn’t have to wait long.

Hawke’s hand trailed up her bare back and Isabela smiled. “Feeling better yet?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Liar.”

Hawke scoffed but didn’t stop her wandering fingers. They skimmed Isabela’s shoulder. Then her neck. “Hardly.”

“Can I apologize now?”

Hawke turned brilliant blue eyes on the pirate and said softly, “You’d better,” which made Isabela laugh. “But don’t do that again, okay?”

“Spoilsport. Bar fights are fun.”

“Isabela.”

She planted a kiss under Hawke’s jaw. “Fine, fine. No more bar fights.”

“Or getting nearly stabbed.”

“Or getting nearly stabbed,” Isabela repeated. “Now, can I get on with my apology or are you going to completely ignore the fact that I’m naked and you’re not?”


	9. Story Prompt:  "I'm pregnant."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke/Varric established relationship

“Reading that more than five times won’t change what’s written on the page, Hawke.  Trust me, I’d know.”

Hawke cupped her chin in her head and let her eyes drift over the parchment once more.  “I don’t get it.”

“Something not to get?”

“I don’t get it.  She must be joking.”

Now even more confused, Varric pulled up a chair next to hers and picked up the letter.  “ _Dear Hawke, I’m well, thanks for getting me out of Kirkwall_ ….blah blah something about a grassy knoll and the kids in her village…Oh, this is good.   _I met a man, a nice one with dark hair and kind eyes_.”

“Keep reading.”

Varric thought better of reading ahead before continuing.  “ _We fell in love and we’re planning on getting married in the spring_.”  He looked at Hawke, who was staring blankly at the table.  “See, that’s not so bad, Hawke.  You’ll have a brother in law.  Not all of them are festering nug humpers, or at least that’s what I’ve heard.”

“Keep reading.”

With a sigh, Varric went on.  “ _I want you to be at the wedding, that’s so important to me and Malcolm_.”  He sputtered, then laughed.  “ **Malcolm**? Damn, she really is marrying her father.”

“Varric.”

“Okay, okay.  Reading commencing.   _But I wanted you to know that more than a sister in law, you’re going to be an aunt.  I’m pregnant_.”  He whistled, soft and low.  “Holy shit.”

“Exactly.”

For a rare moment, Varric was at a loss for words.  But just for a moment. “Hawke, this isn’t a bad thing.  Bethany’s going to have a baby and you’ll have a little niece or nephew.  And she’s getting married.  Most people would be happy.”

That got him a look.  “I am happy,” Hawke said more fiercely than she meant. “I mean, it’s great.  A baby.  But I just don’t  **get it**.”

Varric had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the bewilderment in her voice.  “Hawke, I thought you knew.  See, when two people love each other very much, or were very drunk and don’t remember the stranger from a few months ago, sometimes that love culminates in a baby.” He nudged her shoulder with his own.  “I can be more detailed, if you like.  A man has a-”

“Stop.”  

Varric stared at her for a long moment, willing the urge to chuckle away as much as he could.  It didn’t work, or he just didn’t have a very strong will.  The laugh rose, unbidden and full-bodied, from his belly and spilled out, echoing in the room.  

Hawke’s eyes flashed but her posture softened.  “It’s not funny.”

“Oh, yes it is.”

“I don’t know anything about babies, Varric.  She’ll want me to visit and hold it and feed it and make weird cooing noises.”

“That’s usually part of the deal.”  He was still laughing as he wiped tears from his eyes.

Suddenly, she sat up and looked at him, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.  “See, now that’s funny.”

“What?”

Hawke wiggled her eyebrows at him.  “If I’m an aunt, you’re an uncle.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Shit.”

“Know anything about babies, Varric?”

“ _Shit_.”


	10. Story prompt:  Hawke and Varric having a beer in the Hanged Man after the defeat of Corypheus and Hawke returns from Weisshaupt

“Andraste’s tits!”

Varric snorted, which was hard to do with a mouthful of spiced ale. He swallowed, ignoring the burning in his throat, and rasped, “Good to see a few explosions and some cranky Wardens hasn’t changed you.”

Hawke smirked at him over her cup. “Ha. No, it’s this ale. It’s actually….good.” She shrugged, a smile flickering over her face. “Wasn’t expecting that. And hey, we had Qunari and blood mages. Oh, and rogue Templars and a cowardly Viscount. And weird…what’s that you always say?”

“Weird _shit_ ,” he finished as he smirked back. He was enjoying all of this - the banter, the drinking. But especially the look in her eyes. That very Hawke-specific _I will fuck you into the floor the next time I have a chance_ look.

And he did love that look. It meant Hawke-induced euphoria, all at the mercy of her hands, mouth, and body. All that skin, that hair growing out from a choppy cut to uneven ends that brushed her shoulders that would tickle as it ran over his chest while she slithered down his body…

“Hey, stay with me, dwarf.” Hawke snapped her fingers in his face and he started, jostling his cup and sending drops of ale flying. “Go somewhere nice over there?”

“You have no idea, beautiful.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“Still got your rooms upstairs?”

“Are you kidding?” He pushed his cup across the table and his ass up from his seat. “The Viscount gets want he wants in this city.”

Hawke shoved herself away from the table, her beautiful face soon looming over his as she whispered in his ear, “Care to give me a tour?”

That made him shiver, tendrils of want curling in his belly. _It’s been far too long_. “Rugs to rafters.”

Her hand slipped into his. “Just as long as it ends in your bed.”


	11. Story Prompt:  Horribly hung over Hawke and the striptease that never was

“Maker’s mercy,” Hawke groaned.  She instantly regretted voicing the pain in her head.  The very sound of her voice made her head ring that much more.  _Okay, no words, just thinking.  Got it.  Thinking only._

_But thinking fucking hurts, too._

_Shit, what did I get myself into?  What the hell happened?  Where am I?_

After a moment’s hesitation, she cracked open an eye and saw red velvet.  _Good, at least I’m in my bed._

Hawke flung her arm out and felt the give of a pillow….and hair.

_Oh fuck, oh shit.  Wha…Who?_

Throwing a mental prayer to Andraste, hoping she hadn’t pissed off the Maker’s Bride too much by blaspheming twenty times a day, she opened her other eye and very carefully turned her head.

Isabela’s beautiful - and bare - back met her sight.  

_FUCK._

_No, no, don’t freak out.  It’s okay.  There is definitely a good explanation for this.  She’s probably not actually naked. It’s probably some scandalously low dress or a new backless corset-_

Curiosity eating at her, Hawke hooked a finger in the sheet around Isabela’s hips and pulled, just a little.

_Definitely naked.  Got it._

Hawke bolted upright.  Nausea rolled over her in waves and she clutched her stomach.   _Don’t throw up.  Don’t.  Don’t you do it!_   She breathed deeply, long, slow, even breaths until the sick feeling passed.

Hawke yanked back the sheet over her legs.  A _nd I have no pants.  Even better.  Who needs pants?  Not this rogue._

She pulled her robe around her waist tighter and slid her legs over the side of the bed.  Both feet firmly on the floor but her eyeballs feeling like they were bouncing in her skull, Hawke stood on shaky legs and walked around the bed. Her path was halted by the sight of clothes on the floor.

 _That’s more clothes than my pants and Isabela’s clothes._   She squinted in the dim light, staring hard at the pile.  She saw black leather, a white belt, and feathers.

 _Right.  So my friends are somewhere in my house.  Naked._ She looked to the ceiling.   _Look, I get it.  I haven’t always been the best example of one of your followers but really?  Have I been that awful?_

Hawke wound her way out of her bedroom, her feet far too big for her body. The stairs posed a new challenge, one that left Hawke gasping for air and fighting her own stomach halfway down.

 _And I’m staying here.  At least until I don’t feel like projectile vomiting._  

She rested her head on her knees and closed her eyes.   _Much better, so much better._

“Hawke?”

Her head came up so fast she heard her neck crack.  Varric was standing a few feet away, a confused look on his face and  _thank the fucking Maker_  he was fully clothed.  “Varric?”

“Hawke,” he repeated, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline, “and your no-pantsness.”  His eyes instantly flew to her face.  “Do you have any idea why I woke up in your armchair in the study to your dog licking my face?”

Like he’d been called by his mere mention, Hero bounded out from the study and skidded to a stop beside the dwarf.  “I think Hero’s the only one who knows what’s going on here,” Hawke mumbled.  “Go find the others, boy.”

Hero woofed softly then took off toward the kitchen.  “Do I want to know?” Varric asked.

“Definitely not.”

“Got it.”

Hero’s thundering bark halted their conversation and they both watched, dumbstruck, as Hero led the saddest parade of half naked men Hakwe had ever seen.

_Not that I’ve seen such a thing before._

Fenris was first in line, a blanket around his waist and his gauntlets still on. Sebastian shirtless and holding up a rumpled Anders, who was also shirtless and wearing what looked like Isabela’s boots.

“We will never speak of this.  Ever,” Fenris growled as he yanked the blanket up his body.

“Clearly something, ahem, happened last night,” Sebastian said, trying to look dignified with an apostate mage half curled around him.  “And I think Anders is comatose.”

“I’m not,” came Anders’ exasperated answer.

Varric let out a snicker, earning him glares.  “You have to admit, this is pretty fucking funny.  Can anyone remember what happened last night?”

“No,” was the resounding answer.

“And Isabela’s still asleep upstairs,” Hawke added unhelpfully.   _Naked and in my bed._   “No one remembers anything?”

Fenris, Sebastian, and Anders started talking all at once and Hawke waved a hand at them.   _Too much noise, too much noise_.  Her motions were in vain as the conversation grew louder and more boisterous when Varric added his voice, trying to find sanity in a crazy situation.

They all missed the front door creaking open.  “Oh, is it laundry day?”

Slowly, the conversation died and all heads turned Merrill’s direction.  “Merrill?” Hawke asked, staring at the fully dressed and pink-cheeked elf.  

“I brought biscuits,” Merrill replied, holding aloft the basket over her arm.  “I thought you might need them after last night.”

Varric chuckled, swiftly going to Merrill’s side.  He took her by the arm and led her to a chair.  “Daisy, were you here last night?”

“Of course, Varric.  We all were.”

Varric shot Hawke a glance.  “Do you think you could tell us what happened? We all seem to be a bit, uh, lacking in the memory department this morning.”

Merrill brightened.  “I get to tell a story?”

“Maker, please tell us,” Hawke groaned, dreading what she was about to hear.

“Oh, don’t worry, Hawke,” Merrill said as she sat her basket on the floor.  “You weren’t the one dancing on the tables.”  The elf shot a look at the three men Hero had dragged in.

“Sweet Andraste,” Sebastian said as he looked skyward.

“Anything else, Daisy?”

Clearly enjoying the entire room’s attention, Merrill leaned back in chair.  “Oh, yes.” 


	12. Story prompt:  Varric/Hawke:  "Well. This could have gone better."

“Well, shit.”

Hawke snuggled closer. “Don’t worry about it.”

Varric huffed and pointed to his blanket covered cock as he stage whispered, “Traitor.” He gazed down at her. “It could have gone so much better.”

“It still went down. Well, you did.”

Despite himself, Varric snorted. “That was a little weak.”

She pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. “That’s me, Iona Hawke. She of the obvious jokes and deadly daggers.” She scratched at his chest. “Rawr.”

“Hawke, not to beat this to death, but -”

“But nothing.” She kissed his jaw. “Shit happens. It doesn’t make you any lesser, in any way.” She planted a kiss on his nose. “And I love you.”

“You know exactly how to make me feel better.” He kissed her back. “I love you, too.”

“One of my many talents,” she replied softly as the hand that had scratched at him skated over his chest. Varric sucked in a breath as it traveled lower, finally slipping under the blankets. “Let me show you something else I’m rather talented at.”


	13. Story Prompt:  Shepard's reaction to other team member's Mako driving

“Oh man, Shepard is not going to like that!”

“Did you see him take it up that cliff?”

“That was good, right? Oh, here comes the lava!”

“Please, the Mako can handle lava. We rebuilt that thing specifically because of the logs from the SR-1. Do you know how many times Shepard ran the original Mako over lava fields?”

“No, why don’t you tell us, Lieutenant?”

Cortez and Vega jumped and spun in their chairs. The bag of chips Vega had been holding dropped to the floor as he jumped to his feet. Cortez swiftly followed suit and launched into the snappiest salute he’d ever given. “Commander,” he said, “we didn’t hear you.”

She eyed the bag of chips on the floor wryly. “No, you were too busy eating. Chips.” She shot Vega a look. “On my armory console.”

“Lola. Yes, ma'am.” Another Shepard glare made Vega wither. “Er, no ma'am?”

“Got a question, Vega?”

“No, ma'am!”

Shepard watched Cortez’s mouth flicker and tried not to smirk. “That’s better. Now, show me what you were watching. It was clearly important enough to make you both forget your duties.”

Shepard hobbled in her cast over to their chairs and both lieutenants followed slowly. “Esteban,” Vega whispered.

“Yeah?”

“How much shit are we in?”

“First guess? A shit ton.”

They stood behind Shepard as she gingerly sat in Cortez’s chair. She propped her booted foot on the railing at the bottom of the console and leaned forward. Silence fell in a heavy curtain while Shepard watched the grainy footage of the Mako being put through its paces as Tali, Garrus, and Kaidan ran over fields of Geth.

“Damn,” Shepard said softly. “Look at that thing. It’s mowing those Geth down into paste.” She turned to look at Vega and Cortez. “Kaidan’s driving?” They both nodded and she hummed sagely for a moment. The look on her face became wistful. “Makes sense. They way he turned the Mako, taking really precise corners in a giant field so he doesn’t miss a single Geth? Very Kaidan.”

“You should have seen Tali driving earlier,” Vega said, leaning over Shepard’s chair to get a peek at the action. “She drove in these crazy patterns, dodging Geth canons. Didn’t get hit once!”

“Yeah?” Shepard sighed, slouching over more.

“Yeah, and Garrus? Woo, that man - er, Turian - can drive! He did this amazing little spin-”. Cortez elbowed the bigger man in the side and he yelped. “Geez, Esteban, what?”

“Maybe back it off a little,” Cortez said in a stage whisper.

“No, it’s okay,” Shepard cut in as she spun to face them fully. “I think I’m just a little melancholic. I mean, me breaking my damn leg days before I get my Mako back?”

“Sucks,” Vega said.

Shepard nodded. “Fucking sucks.”

Cortez suppressed a smile at his commander’s frankness. “Um, Shepard, not to overstep but how many painkillers did you take before you came down here?”

Shepard smiled, her eyes going a tad hazy. “A lot.”

Cortez and Vega exchanged a look. “Think maybe you should head back to your cabin, Lola?”

“Only if you send me that footage.”

“You got it, Commander.”


	14. Opening Line Challenge:  "Why are you so bad at your job?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opening line challenge prompt from @theladyw on Tumblr.

Varric pulled his head up, blinking blearily in fading candlelight.  “Hawke, what -”

The big warrior threw himself into the opposite chair and kicked mud splattered boots onto the ink stained table.  “Oh come on, Varric.  Coy isn’t a good look on you.”

Varric blinked some more, then yanked his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.  “Andraste’s tits, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He waved a hand at the table.  “I was trying to work.”

Hawke pointed at the ink smudge on Varric’s cheek and grinned.  “That says otherwise.”

“Shit,” he muttered, scrubbing furiously at his cheek with the palm of his hand.  “Okay, you got me.  I was asleep.  It happens sometimes.”  He narrowed his eyes at his friend.  “Why are you here, asking me questions about Maker knows what?”

Hawke wagged a finger at the dwarf.  “Nope, answer my question.”

Varric sighed and folded his arms on the table, not caring that he was likely smearing his papers.  “Fine.  But what am I so bad at?  Because we both know it isn’t protecting your ass.  How many firefights have I pulled you out of?”

Hawke allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk.  “Oh, several.”

“More like hundreds.”

The warrior shrugged.  “Sure, sure.  No, I’m talking about your job as my friend.”  That had Varric staring hard at him.  Hawke kept smiling.  “I just realized tonight that you do so much for me, but there’s one thing you’ve never done.  Something friends always do for each other.”

Relief passed over Varric’s face, but it was momentary when he still had no fucking clue what Hawke was talking.  “I tell you what big guy….it’s late.  I’m tired.  And as much as I love usually playing word games with you, could you just spit it out?”

Hawke pulled his feet from the table and leaned forward, powerful arms coming to rest on the table in a delicate way that Varric still marveled at after all these years.  Hawke was big - big muscles, big hair, big brown eyes, and a big heart.  But his timing could be monstrously awful.

The next words out of Hawke’s mouth were a prime example of this.  “You’ve never been my wing man!  Come on, Varric!  There is still quite the crowd downstairs and they’re clamoring for my presence and your stories.”  He stood and came around to Varric’s side of the table, doing his best pout. “Come on.  Do it for me.”

Varric looked up at his friend and saw the pleading brown eyes and wild mass of hair and pouty lips the ladies and quite a few of the men went wild over.  He shook his head, chuckling, and stood.  “Oh, put it away.”  Hawke winked at him and he sighed. “Why do you I let you get me into all this trouble?  Hell, why do I encourage it?”  He elbowed Hawke in the side.  “You’ve got enough trouble with Rivani waltzing in and out of your bed.”

Hawke waved a hand in the air and started toward the door.  “Ah, that’s just friendly between me and Isabela.  We agreed to that.”  He flung the door open with a mighty heave.  “After you, my friend.”

Varric pulled on his coat, still grumbling, but followed Hawke down the hallway.  They stopped at the top of the stairs, the crowd below cheering at the sight of the Champion of Kirkwall and his mouthy, entertaining friend.  “Ah, my adoring public,” Hawke said, smiling down at Varric.  “Come on, let’s see if I can someone fun to talk to us.”

Varric leaned over the banister, eyeing the crowd.  It was the typical Hanged Man late night crew, mostly drunks and people too lonely to go home.

“Ah ha!” Hawke exclaimed.  “There are two beauties at the bar who look like they’re just waiting to be entertained.”  He slung an arm around Varric’s shoulders, grin growing.  “Bring that silver tongue down there and help a friend out, would you?”

“You’re horrible.”

“You love it.”

Varric smiled.  “Yes, yes I do.”


	15. Opening Line Challenge:  "You can't tell me not to worry. You're always getting into trouble."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opening line challenge from @redheaded-renegade on Tumblr, who wanted it for Merrill/Isabela. Major fluff warning.

“You can’t tell me not to worry.  You’re always getting into trouble.”

“Merrill….”

The elf finished off the bandage’s knot quickly, tying it just a bit too tightly.  But Isabela bit her tongue.  Her friend - no, her lover, she needed to get that right, but it was still so damn new - was upset.  

With her.

And it was her fault.

_ Damn it all _ , Isabela thought as Merrill quickly gathered up her healing supplies and tucked them into a drawer.  The cabinet she’d put them in was crooked thanks to a cracked leg and the whole thing looked like it had been scrounged from a Darktown garbage pit.   _ It probably was.  She lives in the Alienage.  It’s not like she can just walk to any market and buy a new one. _

“Okay, let me have it,” Isabela said.  Merrill whirled on her, bright green eyes narrowed.  “Come on.  I screwed up.  And I know you don’t like yelling but it might make you feel better.”

Merrill crossed her arms and leaned against the cabinet.  The thing rocked, threatening to tip over, but Isabela focused on the woman in front of her. Instead of the nearly-broken furniture.

_ Broken just a little.  Like she is.  Like I am.  Like we all are.   _ Isabela almost snorted at her own thoughts.   _ I’m hanging around Varric too much.  Going all literary.  Next thing you know, I’ll shit out a book. _

“Yelling will not make me feel better,” Merrill said tersely.  “I hate yelling.  It makes me red in the face and my voice goes hoarse.  And it’s very stressful.”

Isabela held out her hands.  “Okay, no yelling.”  She scuffed the worn edge of the rug near her chair with the toe of a boot.  “So what do I need to do to make it up to you?  I feel bad, Merrill, I do.”  She frowned, sudden guilt washing over her.  I’m sorry.”

Merrill sighed.  “I suppose that will do.”

Isabela stood quickly and went to her, putting her hands on the smaller woman’s shoulders.  “No, no.  You don’t get to brush off my bad behavior like that.  Hawke does that and while I love his blind eye, you deserve more.”  She squeezed Merill’s shoulders, leaning down to brush a kiss over her forehead.  “You deserve better.  I need to be better.”

“You shouldn’t talk about yourself like that.”

“Like what, Kitten?”

Merrill pulled back and gazed up at her, all trace of anger gone from her face.  Now worry sat there.  “Like you aren’t worth anything.  Like there’s no way I can love you.  I do.”

Isabela’s heart shattered.  No one - no one other than Hawke - had ever told her that.  And Hawke meant it in a brotherly way she found endearing and a little exasperating, because he said it all the time.

_ Like he needed to reassure her that she was loved and needed _ .

“Fuck,” she whispered and Merrill started.  “No, darling, not you.  I just realized you’re right.”

Merrill brightened a little at that.  “Oh, you did?”  She placed her hands over Isabela’s, tracing her fingertips down to Isabela’s wrists.  “I mean, good.  You did.”

The pirate laughed throatily.  “You’re cute when you’re aggressive.”

Merrill scoffed.  “I’m not aggressive.  There isn’t a thing about me that’s aggressive.”

“I don’t know, you can be pretty demanding in bed -”

Merrill’s lips twitched into a smile but she put a finger on Isabela’s lips and said, “Hush.  Now, promise me something.”

“Anything.”

She traced the line of Isabela’s jaw, finally resting her palm against her cheek.  “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“When, Kitten?”

Merrill snuggled in close, wrapping her arms around Isabela’s waist.  The hug was tight, nearly lung-crushing, but Isabela reveled in it.  “Always.”

Isabela carded her fingers through Merrill’s short hair and whispered, “Always.  I promise.”  

“Good.”

“And Kitten?”

“Hmm?”

Isabela’s hands cupped Merrill’s chin, pulling her head up so she could look at the elf properly.  “Love you too.”


End file.
